I try to keep it PG since I’m this whole young professional, but those who know me best know that I am a sucker for funny stuff. Here’s some funny stuff I found just browsing around the net today while I was ahem “working”.
I love my job, but my fiance wants me to quit when we get married and be a housewife. He is a corporate lawyer so money isn’t a problem. I just wonder why he doesn’t want me to work. Does it really make a difference in a relationship if I work or not?
you “wonder why he doesn’t want you to work?” well, let me help: HE WANTS TO TRAP YOU INTO DEPENDENCE. i will have some form of income, legal or otherwise, until the day i drop dead. nothing strikes empathetic fear in my heart faster than the words “i stay home and take care of the kids.” could you sell avon? or tupperware?! is there ANY WAY AT ALL you can earn your own money? a PAYCHECK equals FREEDOM, mam, and unless your pre-nup isbangin’, when this 99.99999% divorce rate catches up with your ass you’re going to be FUCKED. you and your kids. dudes don’t do the right thing anymore, get the mistress/secretary a secret apartment in the city while maintaining your standard of comfortable living in the suburbs. instead they jettison your saddlebagged ass and move in with that bitch these days, shacked up playing house until she pressures him for a commitment and he leaves her ass, too. and the only reason you’d need to care is if you were trapped waiting for his trickle down economics to pay your fucking mortgage. so yes, it makes a difference. the difference between being able to say “fuck you” while packing your shit and groveling pathetically while you wait for him to cut you a check. just cut out the middle man and marry your job. many happy returns! Bitches Gotta Eat
I’ve spent the last few hours of my life reading this blog…why? because it’s pretty damn hilarious. I even called wifey and read to her so that we could laugh together–which we did. I refuse to post this video on my blog, but The Fury wasn’t scurred and delivered me the WTF moment of the evening. Next, what could be my kindred spirit of bloggery, La made a list of reasons why she wants a live in boyfriend:
8. Put out AT LEAST 3 times a week.
This is non-negotiable. NON-NEGOTIABLE. You mean to tell me there is a program I can get with where I don’t have to sit through two hours of boring chit chat about what we do, our upwardly mobile, educated, much-too-small-in-this-city circle just to get him to put out?
What’s that you say? I don’t have to get dressed? I don’t have to put on heels (though it could be fun to keep them on)?!
*hands go up… and they stay there*
Sign me up.
I listen to the tales of my girlfriends with live-ins and I am absolutely 200% envious. I am pretty sure the only thing better than really great dick is really great CONVENIENT dick and what is more convenient than RIGHT NEXT TO ME? As it stands, I have to go through way too much to get laid. I think I deserve this. La Bella Vita
Forgive my upbringing, but the only thing I could come up with as an appropriate rebuttal was a hearty Denzel-esque “heh heh heh, my nigga”. I’ll do better. Tomorrow.